alwaysright | November 28th, 2007

November 28th, 2007 - Wednesday

Amber eyed the small mountain her bags added up to. Part of her wondered if she hadn’t overdone it; this wasn’t the apocalypse. The rest of her new better: Thanksgiving with her family? Was worse. In those suitcases were provisions for all possible disasters, including a sleeping bag and extra bed sheets. Her mom would not accuse her of forgetting anything.

The salad, though, they’d get that in Worcester itself. Amber preferred to face last-minute Wednesday lines than bring six-hour wilted lettuce from Princeton-Plainsboro.

That ought to be it, though. Time to go. They were going to have a lot of traffic as it was since House had insisted they stay Wednesday afternoon despite the fact that they had no case—and also despite the fact most of the hospital had been gone since yesterday. House couldn’t actually be that lonely and bitter, not when she knew for a fact that Wilson had invited him to a full Thanksgiving meal cooked in his very own apartment. If House wanted to stay at the hospital to impress and/or to get into the pants of Cuddy—who would be working through the holiday, according to Amber’s sources (Cameron)— he didn’t have make them all suffer with him.

Amber got her cell phone out and texted Eric: Leaving now, be ready to go. He probably knew by now she would not spare him his life if he and his own bags were not waiting for her on the curb. He was rather inconsistent about when and when not to get into a power struggle with her, but for his own good and for her punctuality, she hoped he wouldn’t make a case of it today. Throwing her cell phone back into her purse, Amber began the wonderful journey of torture, starting with getting all her damn things down a huge staircase. First thing she’d do when she got back was get in the apartment management’s face about getting a damn elevator.

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Geoffrey and Leila had joined the conversation about whether it made sense to make Brian pay more just to get here a few hours earlier and how all the other flights were probably booked already; Aunt Jude listened in attentively, probably waiting for a moment to declare the statistics for plane accidents during the holidays. It'd be just her and Eric, for a couple of minutes.

Amber tipped her forehead towards Eric, a tired, wry smile tugging at her lips. Nothing seemed very funny right now, but what else could she do but find humor where she could? Though, poor Eric. At least she knew what to expect and where the bombs lay; his steps in good faith were blowing up in his face. She covered his hand with hers. What she really wanted to do was smooth away the strained lines from his face; kiss him, too, if that helped.

“That sucks,” Amber noted sympathetically. “At least I get the credit.” She hadn't known that about him, or his father. Maybe he wasn't just dealing with the challenges of her family, but remembering his own. Amber squeezed his hand tighter, resolving to be more supportive. She'd been wrapped up in her conflicts here-- like all the other times she’d come back-- and had left him hanging, shutting him out with her anger. Amber gazed deep into Eric's eyes; sometimes, in the right light, she could catch gold flecks in them. She asked quietly, "Is all this bringing back bad memories?"

She heard the kitchen door open again; her mom must be going to set dinner on the table. "Need help--" Amber called out, already knowing what the answer would be; in previous years she'd been expected to give a hand, but with Eric here, she'd been shifted to pseudo-guest status.

"You all stay seated," her mom said.

Foreman was glad most of the family had gotten caught up in a debate that didn't really matter. Geoffrey was saying something about how they could present Brian with the cheapest, most logical travel plan, and it would still be no guarantee that Brian would make the effort to change his ticket or arrive at the right gate if he did. Chris was trying to calm everyone down, with the simple pronouncement that if Brian said he had it figured out, then he did, and they'd still be seeing him for Thanksgiving dinner, which was the important part. It gave Foreman a moment to feel like Amber had actually seen him again. Ever since she'd announced 'her boyfriend', like a spectacle on display, he hadn't been sure she remembered him, Eric, the guy she'd been sleeping with for the past six weeks. When she smiled at him, he realized he might've been treating her the same way, like a prop in a game of good manners. He smiled back and leaned into her, so that their shoulders were pressed closer together.

He was taken aback by Amber's question. He shouldn't have been; the topic of families and going home and holidays were all around them, and he knew Amber was curious about his family. She rarely let an admission of his pass by without asking a follow-up question, even if she was careful enough to step around the obvious pitfalls in his past. Foreman took a sip of his wine, frowning thoughtfully. Too much was different to really make comparisons. The Volakises were better off; their house and yard and neighbourhood all showed that. But Kate's admonishments to everyone to stay seated while she got dinner ready, or the way Amber and Geoffrey wrestled for the most credit, was familiar. "I don't know," he said. "It's not like Trenton." Maybe everything was too different, so that it didn't evoke specific memories, either good or bad. And for as long as Foreman had been going home for holidays, during college and med school, Mom had been fine, asymptomatic still. So he didn't associate Thanksgiving with bad memories. Sometimes Marcus had been there--usually eager about fresh starts, making grand promises, making Mom smile--or else he wasn't, and the only time he was mentioned was when Dad said grace, almost as if eating his Thanksgiving meal at the Downstate Correctional Facility was just an obligation he hadn't been able to get out of. "Is it different with me here?" Foreman wasn't sure he was ready for some kind of evaluation on his performance so far, but he could swallow his pride enough to get a few pointers.

"All right, everyone," Kate announced, coming back into the living room. "We're ready for dinner. Everyone head into the dining room."

Amber turned into Eric, accepting the small but important gesture of affection; and just like that they created their own world right where she'd never have imagined it possible. It brought back the entire reason why she'd dragged him here in the first place: because she loved him. Amber felt that reminder viscerally, a sudden flare to see his smile, sincere if worn.

Eric's happiness was short-lived, replaced by surprise at her question. Amber had thought it was a logical step in their conversation, but apparently not, if it took him that long to think up an answer. Her thumb absent-mindedly stroked the smooth, soft fabric of his suit pants.

Trenton was different how? Poorer? Amber had the impression Eric had grown up in "the hood," with brick city walls covered in graffiti and the wail of a police siren never too far off. …Maybe she'd watched too much TV. Whether or not visiting her home had revived any memories of his own, though, he side-stepped by asking her a question. And, unlike Eric, Amber's answer was automatic: "Yeah, it's better." Having Eric as an ally here, Amber wasn't alone. He'd pissed her off in the kitchen and said a couple of wrong things to her parents, but he had her back in a way no one else in the room did.

Her high school friends once told Amber that her mom was worse than a drill sergeant; she'd defended her, but there were times that the description fit like a glove. "You don't want to cross her," Amber whispered softly to Eric; her mom had already turned and walked away, so there wasn't as much danger being overheard.

Geoffrey offered Aunt Jude his arm to get up-- though Amber knew she didn't need it-- and Madeleine darted to the table like a bullet. Amber did feel a twinge of sympathy for her-- she was pretty hungry, so she could only imagine the four year old. Amber led Eric to the dinning room, taking her usual seat next to her mom, who traditionally sat at the head of the table. There was a space next to her—not to mention the two empty seats where Brian and his girlfriend would’ve sat.

It's better. Foreman's chest warmed with sudden feeling. He hadn't thought that he was doing badly, despite bringing up a few topics that he should've stayed away from in retrospect. But to hear Amber affirm that his being here meant something to her felt so much more meaningful than her words alone. He stood up at Kate's announcement and took both of Amber's hands in his as she got up too. Wanting to share his sudden happiness, he leaned in to kiss her softly, his lips moving gently across hers. Maybe this was the question finally answered--why she wanted him here. He'd been worried about being a block to her mother's questions about when she was going to settle down, or worse, proof that she wasn't bound to her family's values and expectations. But the way she'd answered so quickly, without having to think about it, and the warmth in her eyes as she'd accepted his touch, was more than reassurance. It was a reminder of the tenderness between them, the gentleness, the warmth. "I love you," Foreman murmured in Amber's ear, letting everyone else leave the room first.

"Trust me, I've figured that out," he said as he pulled back. Kate would expect them not to keep the food waiting now that she'd decided to serve. His hand in Amber's, Foreman followed her into the dining room, and following an impulse he'd been suppressing around her far too much, he pulled out her chair for her. He knew it wasn't something Amber looked for, or even wanted, most of the time, but he couldn't help expressing his feelings the way he'd been taught, in small gestures of consideration for her.

Everyone else had already trailed out of the room, but they were still in a sense there as Eric lit up with joy and kissed her with open, transparent love. If they turned around, they would see. Immensely shy all of a sudden, Amber barely moved, her breath hitching to feel the warmth of his lips against hers once more. This wasn't like getting as close as possible to fucking him in restaurants or bars, where she wanted the attention and acclaim of being with the handsomest guy in the room-- that was amongst strangers. It was a performance.

Here-- Amber felt like she'd blurted "He's my boyfriend" all over again, that same embarrassment and stubborn pride burning within her. She squeezed Eric's hands and tried to smile, but her mouth twisted into strange thing. This mattered. He mattered. And-- and she didn't want her family to see. Didn't want them to take this and judge and tell her how to do it right. It didn't make sense. Amber wanted to show Eric off and, at the same time, keep him to herself. He was none of their business.

Confused with this sudden rush of realizations and feelings, Amber shook her head. Later. There'd be real hell to pay if they lingered any longer. "I love you too," Amber said, more softly than she'd intended. She ran her hand over his face once, softly, before tugging him away.

"Would you like more wine or juice?" Her mom primly asked. More guest behavior; normally Amber would be expected to go fetch her own drinks.

"Wine," Amber said.

In her distraction, Amber didn't notice Eric walking up to her chair and pulling it from the table. At the sound of wood scraping against wood, she saw. Again the chivalry. Her self-consciousness came back stronger than ever: this time, everyone was watching. And it'd be a real popular move: Amber didn't have to see her mom to know she'd be smirking knowingly, or that Aunt Jude would be nodding along, satisfied that her niece's guy friend was following proper etiquette.

Amber sat down without comment, as if she were demurely accepting. What else she could do? Even if she were annoyed, she couldn't tell Eric off, not when everyone else approved. She was still trying to impress them all, and this furthered her goal, even at the price of her own dignity.

“I thought no one did that anymore,” her dad said, his voice betraying how impressed he was.

“Just because you don’t doesn’t mean no one else does,” her mom said.

“Yeah,” Geoffrey said, and the smug jerk pulled out a chair for Madeleine and then Leila, both of whom seemed pretty happy with the attention. He probably did always do that, to make himself look good. Self-serving gallantry.

Amber's soft touch against his cheek and her hand in his had felt like they'd insulate him against anything. He didn't need to try hard; he could accept another glass of wine and content himself with answering whatever conversational topics came up, instead of trying to draw the Volakises out or prove himself. In fact, that would probably be better. He didn't want to look like he was trying. Still feeling relaxed and warm from their moment in the living room, however brief, Foreman smiled at Amber as she took her seat, and then sat down himself.

A second later, all that insulation was burned away. Foreman had pulled out Amber's chair for Amber, as a gesture to her, forgetting that he was on display. Seemed like everyone at the table had an opinion. Foreman couldn't even care that they were mostly positive; he felt like an animal in a zoo being put through its paces. Every word he'd said so far tonight had been more or less been taken at face value, but this one little courtesy caused a whole flurry of opinion. If he even said a word about it, he'd look like even more of an idiot than he'd already made of himself. He watched Geoffrey ostentatiously make a point of doing the same, not only for Leila but for Madeleine, somehow making a mockery of it, like he was a pompous butler instead of a caring father and husband. Christ, did Foreman look like that? Maybe he did, in Amber's eyes. If her family was so hung up on it, that's probably how she'd taken it, each time he'd tried. No wonder she asked him not to, if he'd looked like such a prat opening doors for her. He probably came off like he was spreading his jacket over a puddle instead, doing it for the so-called honour, rather than what it really meant, that he cared. Face burning, Foreman couldn't help the grim set to his mouth or the sudden hyper-awareness of everything around him. Would it occasion just as much comment that he knew how to eat with a knife and fork? Maybe they'd be just as surprised that he knew the difference between a salad fork and a dessert spoon. Look at that, he could be dressed up and taken out. What a marvel!

"Well, everybody dig in," Kate said brightly. The food all looked, and smelled, delicious, although Foreman's churning stomach stopped him from reaching immediately for anything. He wasn't going to screw up again, in case Kate's invitation was only a ritual phrase and some people were expected to wait while others served themselves first. Being in an atmosphere like this, Foreman had almost expected everyone to bow their heads and listen to Chris or Geoffrey say grace. His dad certainly wouldn't have let anyone touch a serving spoon before they'd given thanks. Foreman himself had stopped saying grace almost the moment he'd moved out of his parents' house, and he wasn't about to go through the motions here if his hosts didn't.

Chris didn't stop to let anything get cold, and Leila started serving Madeleine, who looked pouty and recalcitrant over waiting. When Chris passed the bowl of peas to Foreman, at least that was a pretty clear sign that 'dig in' meant just that. Somewhat relieved, although still furious with himself for being taken for a chivalrous fool, Foreman got involved in serving himself and passing things on to Amber. No way he was going to offer to serve her, or even hold the serving dishes while she got her own. He'd been taught his lesson.

Amber lifted the glass of wine to her lips as soon as her mom poured her some. At this rate she'd drink too much before the end of dinner, but the alternative was to get through this sober, an option she didn't much relish. Anyway, what would her family do if she got a bit tipsy? It wasn't as if being perfect had ever been good enough. The wine kept her body warm, the room light.

For the next few minutes the conversation ground down to requests for the pepper or a piece of roast beef. Sometime between serving herself potatoes and passing Aunt Jude the peas, Amber's mom managed to pour for everyone: juice for Madeleine and wine for the rest. Only Leila and Amber's mom took from the salad Eric made-- everyone else was probably leaving it for later, but Amber loyally got herself a generous serving. She appreciated his vinaigrette.

Good thing, too, because Eric looked as pissed as he got when House was questioning his authority in front of the rest of the team. Amber snuck her free hand beneath the table and ran it over his thigh. Small touches from her always did help calm him down. "I still can’t get over how different everything looks," Amber said, shifting the topic from herself and Eric. "It's almost like another house."

“Don’t give your mom ideas,” her dad said, but it didn’t sound like just a joke.

It was just as well that everybody concentrated on their food at first, because Foreman doubted he'd be able to offer anything other than a sullen response if he'd been asked for one. He tried to get himself under control, but the attack had come from a direction he hadn't guarded against. Politics or religion were automatically on the list of topics not to bring up and not to argue; sex was to be avoided entirely; but having his personal habits put on the microscope slide was a little much.

He served himself, and, seeing everybody else eating, began to cut up his roast beef. He glanced over at Amber when she let her hand rest on his thigh, but she wasn't quite looking at him, so whatever message she'd intended to convey, he wasn't getting it. It couldn't be 'shut up' since he wasn't talking, and he doubted after his failures in the living room it was some kind of encouragement to speak. He supposed his expression had been obvious. With an effort, he did his best to unclench, taking his first bite. The roast beef was tender and spicy, and his stomach immediately clamoured for more. Foreman controlled himself enough to eat slowly; he didn't want to clear his plate while everyone else was still eating, and look like he'd stuffed himself.

"We only just got the workmen out of here," Kate was saying. "I had to have them back in to fix the wainscotting on the stairs three times! The contractor wanted to charge me! If they hadn't made the mistake the first time then it wouldn't have cost him to re-do it."

Foreman glanced around the dining room. Everything did have that untouched feeling of being brand new, even though Amber had mentioned living in this neighbourhood all her life. Everything looked well put together, but Foreman preferred the comfort of Amber's apartment. Not that he was going to say a word about that. "The roast beef is delicious," he said, when it seemed that the renovation talk had died down.

"Why, thank you, Eric," Kate said. "So nice to hear. I do love trying old recipes on new people."

There was nothing Amber's mom liked to talk about as much as her own projects. As Amber suspected, bringing up the renovations guaranteed them a few moments of relative peace, with her mom going on quite happily about all the ways she'd caught the workers trying to cheat her. Only Geoffrey seemed to listen, though. Her dad probably had had enough, since he'd been living here; Madeleine was chattering on to Leila about who knew what; and Aunt Jude had tuned out at once.

But Amber hadn't raised that topic for any of them; it'd been for Eric alone, who needed the break. Not even her touch softened his grimace.

Complimenting the food was a good move, at least. Everyone else chimed in, including Amber, but she knew that her mom would remember that Eric said so first. 'The first compliment is the real one,' her mom had told her many, many times.

"I'm just looking forward to tomorrow," Amber's dad said, winking at her mom.

Her mom snorted. "I'm looking forward to you helping me, for once." This was an old, warm joke. He actually did pitch in a fair amount on Thanksgiving. Not in other parts of the year, but... which brought up another good question. Would her mom want Amber's in the kitchen this year? Not setting the table one thing, but the Thanksgiving feast was huge. Even Leila had been helping for as long as Amber could remember; she wasn't sure if Eric, a man, would be expected to do the same.

The conversation shifted to Geoffrey's latest work: more big important rich clients wanting him to save them in their divorces blah blah blah. Amber wished she could be like Madeleine and be excused from the table as soon as she'd cleared her plate. She enviously watched Leila pick up the drowsy Madeleine, murmuring softly to her, and carrying her out of the room. Aunt Jude excused herself to go give Leila a hand.

By the end of the meal, Foreman was feeling invisible. He couldn't decide if he was relieved or annoyed. While Kate's talk about the renovations, even if she had gone on, hadn't bothered him because he understood the urge to let everyone know exactly how much work had gone into the dinner and the setting, Geoffrey's stories were more insufferable. If Geoffrey had been an investment banker, Foreman would have at least had something in common with him to discuss; even estate law would interest him, for his parents' benefit. But a divorce attorney only had one thing on his mind: exactly how, when, and why relationships crashed on the rocks, and how lucrative it was when they did. During his first visit to meet Amber's parents, Foreman didn't want to be thinking about whether they'd end up at each other's throats five years down the road. They both had immensely stressful jobs, they had different ideas about having a family, he was technically her boss...according to Geoffrey, those were all signs of imminent relationship collapse.

Fortunately, Geoffrey didn't seem to need any encouragement from Foreman to keep up his stories. Chris asked a question or two, mostly about Madeleine's school and the neighbourhood where they lived, and whether Leila was thinking of going back to work, which segued into talk about relatives Foreman hadn't met and people he didn't know. When Kate suggested--obliquely--that they move out of the dining room so that she could clear, Foreman was nearly the first one on his feet. "Can I help?" he offered, picking up his empty plate.

"No, no, you and Amber go enjoy yourselves." Kate took the plate out of his hands and started stacking it with Leila's and Madeleine's. "You haven't even had a chance to settle in yet. I know you'll want to see the room."

As much as his better instincts pushed Foreman to clear the table and at least make a stab at offering to do the dishes (a chore he'd never have escaped at home, guest or not), the thought of putting a few solid walls between them and the family was far more appealing. He turned to Amber and tried to smile. "Want to give me the tour?" he asked, remembering too late that it was practically what he'd said the first time he'd seen her apartment, and carried her through it naked before depositing her on her bed and joining her there. His face heated, but the memory made his smile much more genuine than he'd thought he could manage after that dinner.

Amber barely believed their good fortune. She'd thought they'd have to spend another hour or two with drinks and more small talk about just how perfectly green Geoffrey's grass was, but her mom went and gave her permission to break away. She reached for Eric's hand, a smile bursting on her face. In her eagerness to be alone with him, her annoyances from earlier, their near-fight in the kitchen, were all but forgotten.

Her mind flooded with images of what they could do once she'd closed the door behind them. They'd have to be quiet, but at least a proper kiss, long and deep. Amber wasn't sure if she'd be up for much more, knowing that most of her closest relatives were meters away, but that was okay. Eric and walls around them sounded perfect right now.

Amber was already on her feet, fingers lacing between his and ready to bolt, when Eric asked, with more a wince than a grin, if she'd give him the tour. Now why would he go and ruin the escape plan they'd been given on a silver platter? She almost said no. But... he seemed to unfold with the question, some of his tension easing away. Amber could give him this. "Sure," she said. "You've seen most of the first floor, but we also have another living room in the back--" Amber waved towards it, willing to go there if he wanted. "And then there's the second floor, that's where all the bedrooms are."

Foreman's smile widened. Amber looked so crestfallen when he asked for a tour--their minds couldn't have gone to the same moment in time, if she was reacting like he'd asked her to perform a chore instead of a prison break. The last thing he wanted was to be shown every inch of wallpaper. Besides, he'd save that for when he wanted to get in Kate's good graces. She'd be the one who'd be happiest to show him every smoothed nick and repainted accent wall. Although the idea of seeing childhood pictures did cross his mind. They had to be around somewhere. Still, not now. Foreman took Amber's hand and stepped close to her. "I was kidding," he said. "I'd much rather unpack." He left the interpretation of that up to her--from his tone of voice, he could hardly believe that she'd think he was interested in having his clothes neatly folded and put away.

It looked like Geoffrey and Chris were settling down in the living room; Foreman wondered if either of them cared about football. If they were watching the game tomorrow, then Foreman would have a much easier time connecting with them. As long as they were Bears fans.

Jude and Leila were just coming downstairs from putting Madeleine down. Somewhat sardonically, Foreman realized that he and Amber might be escaping, but they were also giving the family the perfect opportunity to talk about him and Amber behind their backs. Now would be the moment when his flaws were trotted out and dissected, and he wouldn't be there to defend himself or even to figure out exactly which of his faux pas had been the real dealbreakers. Still, the privacy was worth it. Foreman gestured for Amber to take the tour upstairs--and the faster, the better.

Fortunately, her mom had already gone into the kitchen; she'd have been disappointed that Eric wasn't dying to learn every detail of her improved house. Amber, though, was relieved. "I do have a lot of bags," she said. It was the flimsiest of excuses. If anyone overheard them, they wouldn't believe their flirtatious lies for one second. But she was saying it for Eric alone, playing along with his growing enthusiasm. "We should get started on that."

She'd have kissed him then and there, but that seemed frustrating. Here she'd have to stick with mere a peck and with just a few steps she could have so, so much more. With a wide smirk, Amber tugged him away from the table and to the stairs. She didn't say goodnight to the others, as that'd mean more conversation than she was up to. If they just bolted away, then they could happen to 'fall asleep' and not put up with anyone else until tomorrow.

Amber scurried up the stairs. Growing up, she'd had her own way of going up this staircase, three steps at a time. It was strange, leading Eric up-- the steps weren't wide enough for them to go side-by-side-- feeling the urge to go at her old, automated pace, but not able to, with him there.

She drew him into her room and firmly closed the door. The space felt tinier than ever: not only were there the old computer and VHS player her parents had dumped in here, but now there were their bags and two full-grown, large adults. She’d longed to take Eric's face between her hands and kiss him deep; to press into him and have him touch her into forgetting all the old humiliations being at home brought back. But as she did it, covering his mouth fast and eager, it was also to keep him from looking too closely at her room.

Foreman felt like a giggling kid as they made their way up the stairs. It wasn't a comparison he liked, no matter how glad he was to get away. They couldn't possibly pretend that everyone in the house didn't know what they were doing, and yet it felt like they were getting away with something. Amber's hand in his was warm, tugging him along, and Foreman hurried after her. He saw no more than a glance of the upstairs hallway before Amber yanked him into one of the rooms and shut the door. The next thing he knew, Amber was pulling him into a kiss. Her palms cupped his face, warm from the glasses of wine he'd had at dinner, and her lips against his were soft at first and then firmly seeking.

It felt like he'd been waiting forever for the kiss. Foreman wrapped his arms around Amber immediately, spreading his hands over her back. He massaged one hand up and down her spine, while the other pressed her as close as he could. They hadn't kissed, not like this, since--Christ--days ago; work had gotten in the way, the pre-Thanksgiving rush, House's damn interference. The combination of wine and desire made Foreman's head swim. His eyes were closed, and yet he felt like he could see every inch of Amber. He kissed her again, slow and deep, like a drink after a desert. Her body was familiar, her breasts pressing against his chest, her legs fitting with his as he stepped forward, as close as he could get. Finally, he sighed, and dropped his head, only enough to breathe. "You feel good," he said. That deserved another kiss, which he gave her, more a whisper than a conversation this time.

He had no idea what they were doing. Amber's room might give them a measure of privacy, but he had to remember that one kiss here was far different than if they were at his place, or hers. More than once, they'd walked in the door and into each other's arms, by mutual agreement putting sex above dinner or even hanging up their coats. With Amber's family so near, nothing would be that easy. Still, Foreman kissed Amber again, tasted her lips, and hoped for more.

It was a balm, holding Eric and being held back. All the tension coiled up in Amber seemed to smooth away, like washing dirt from a surface. It didn't matter that her brother was a prat or that her mom never would entirely approve of her: Amber only cared about the tenderness of Eric's kiss, how warm and good and desired his embrace made her feel. She opened up to him, deepening their kiss and molding herself to him as much as possible.

But it wasn't close enough. His suit, cool and silky, was an unforgivable barrier. Her own clothes were annoying, her buttons digging into her breasts and her shirt keeping her from truly feeling his fingertips as he touched her back. Even replying to Eric's compliment with words was too great a waste when she could tell him through kiss rather than words that he was amazing. The fullness of his tongue in her mouth, his scent so immediate and strong—it made her lightheaded. He always did.

Still tasting him, Amber pushed him towards the bed, careful to trace a route that would avoid all the waylaid bags. He'd been pressing just as hard into her, kissing just as desperately. She didn't know why he was in the mood, if her family had driven him just as crazy as her or if it was all these days they'd gone without. Whatever his reasons, Amber felt she had all the permission needed to shove him on to the mattress. Landing on him with a barely suppressed gasp, Amber locked her eyes on his for a moment. "I hope you can be quiet," she whispered as her hands flew to his buttons, undoing them. She didn’t think about paper-thin walls or what anyone downstairs would say, so focused Amber was on relieving her desire.

Foreman didn't resist Amber's shoves maneuvering him towards the bed. Under different circumstances, he would have laughed at her eagerness. As it was, he let out a muffled grunt and fell back with barely-controlled force when the bed hit the back of his knees and Amber's push put him off-balance at the same moment. Amber was on top of him a second later, and Foreman's mind began to catch up with their situation about the moment she flung his tie to one side and started industriously opening his shirt. Foreman's eyes widened, his breath coming shorter in surprise. Instead of the immediate, consuming attention he'd had for her a second ago, his gaze darted to the door, and then around the room.

It was small, big enough for the double bed and the small desk with an old, oversized computer monitor, but a row of boxes along one wall along with their piled baggage took up most of the remaining floorspace. The overhead lights were off, the rest lit by a small bedside lamp that someone had probably turned on as they'd carried the luggage up. Foreman couldn't get much more than an impression of buttercup-yellow walls and the matching bedspread underneath him. Amber's childhood room. Amber's room, right above Amber's parents' heads. "I--are you sure you--" He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to cover his hesitation, something Amber never appreciated when she was this determined. He wanted her, yes, and the wine was making it suspiciously easy to give in, but the fact was that he wasn't sure he could be quiet, or how quiet 'quiet' was--Kate and Chris's bedroom could be on the other side of one of these walls, dammit. Foreman half-sat up, struggling a bit under Amber's pinning weight, and brought his hands to cover her wrists. Not tight enough to stop her, but with enough weight to make her think about what they were doing. Tell him what they were doing, before they were caught up in the middle of it.

Eric was sprawled beneath her, hers for the taking. All she had to do was get rid of his pesky wrapping and then she could luxuriate in the heat of his skin. There was no better antidote to forgetting her woes. Amber shoved to the back of her mind all her history with this bed, including all the other people she’d made out with on it, and sat on her calves. This way she could undo those buttons faster, targeting the top ones on his suit's jacket and then his shirt; every inch of revealed flesh was a reward. First the dip of his throat into his collarbone, then--

He grabbed at her hands. That wasn't her kink. Amber glared down at him. What, did he want her to stop? They'd fought over this very kind of thing before. Yet another fight would get in the way of her fucking his brains out.

No. Eric wasn't going to get in the way of her-- their-- fun. And in this month of dating, Amber had learned a trick or two in placating him. One, make him feel heard. Two, get him horny enough to say yes to practically anything. She leaned forward, bending her back and neck to kiss him again, her hair trailing over his cheeks and pillow. The mattress sighed with the movement. It started off light, her lips almost not touching his; then, as if obeying a greater force, Amber leaned further, deepening the kiss. She took her time withdrawing, slowly opening her eyes as she did so, looking into his. "I'm sure," she whispered. She'd already decided, they were going to fuck, and she wouldn't rest until they met this goal. "I need you so bad, Eric." Amber let a whimper work itself into her voice, timing it to match a thrust of her hips into his abdomen.

Foreman was sprawled mostly sideways on the bed; his head had barely managed to make it on to a pillow, and his left leg hadn't made it on to the bed at all. He pushed at the floor with one foot, trying to wriggle back at least far enough that his ass wasn't falling off the edge of the mattress. Amber had his shirt gaping open, the soft, deliberate movement of her fingers over his chest and down his stomach making his abs clench and shiver, but his tie was still pushed up beside his head. Her impatience, and the light rock of her hips against his stomach, was enticing, but Foreman couldn't keep his ears from straining for the sound of footsteps on the stairs, or any sign that the conversation in the living room was audible from the bedroom, which could only mean that they'd be heard in return, even if they never raised their voices.

Amber's slow, lingering kiss seemed perfectly designed to strip his inhibitions away as methodically as she was stripping off his clothes. Foreman closed his eyes and kissed her back. The way she sucked at his lip and tugged as she pulled back was sexy as hell, and that one act tore another prop out from under his self-control. When he didn't have this much to lose by giving in, it always turned him on that Amber had learned him well enough to try to manipulate him by giving him what he wanted. "You need to prove something by acting like we're not in your parents' house," he said. It was true, and he damn well hoped she knew he wasn't fooled. But it was also a rebellious mutter, one she could ignore if she chose. He'd missed her, he was horny, he'd been drinking, and she wasn't taking no for an answer. So simple to give in and touch her. She'd probably do anything he wanted, if it meant getting her way in the end--like suck him until he couldn't remember, let alone care, about the cold-shower reality that her parents could walk in on them at any moment. Foreman lifted his head off the pillow and kissed Amber again, half-wishing it was enough to placate her. It was deep, gentle, needy, and if that was all she wanted he'd be happy to kiss her all night.

It wasn't going to be all she wanted. "I really shouldn't be thinking about who's been on this bed," he said, another half-hearted attempt to douse the proceedings in a little reality. If Amber had really lived here all her life, then there were probably at least a few spotty, idiot teenage boys who'd been laid out like he was now. Well, at least Foreman had the self-assurance to know what the hell he was doing, and not come in his pants. He sighed and let go of Amber's hands, holding her hips instead. The hook-and-eye catch of her skirt was under his left hand, and he opened it, quickly drawing down her zipper a second later. With her skirt loose on her hips, he slipped his fingers under her blouse. Palm spread, fingers following the warm curve of Amber's stomach, he dipped his thumbs under the waistband of her panties, and stroked enticing lines up towards her breasts with his fingertips.

"Quiet," Amber scolded. If she paid Eric's observations too much attention, she'd kick him out of bed and have him sleep on the floor, the mood would be so killed. Yes, she was looking for a distraction and being reminded of it wasn't advancing the cause. She refused to let herself repeat his words in her mind, focusing entirely on trailing her fingertips over the parts of his chest she'd already brought out of hiding. Such a simple action, and yet she found her heartbeat was slowing down from her previous anxiety.

Amber had been driven so far by the determination to forget. But reaching his tie and loosening it, the silk cool against the palm of her hands, helped her relax. It was okay. Eric was beneath her, smirking yet patient, gorgeous as ever. She'd told him downstairs that having him here helped, and now it was truer than ever. As she unwound, Amber was able to take action without deliberately planning out how to gain her desired effect. Without thinking, she raised her upper body, giving Eric the freedom to shift into a more comfortable position.

He could free her too. Amber was about to tell him to start undoing her own shirt, warming with arousal at the memory of all the other times she'd given him that same command. The kiss eased her mind further, drawing out her pleasure. They were together. Eric's touch would make her feel good, she knew it.

That was, if he could keep his mouth shut. Amber sighed. "Not now," she said. She wouldn't take back any of those fumblings-- well, except for maybe with one guy in particular-- but reveling in those trips back to the past was what she was trying to avoid. So much better to close her eyes and shiver as Eric finally, finally started undressing her. Yes. His touch was amazing, anchoring her to the physicality of their present. "Take my shirt off," she said low-- always low, they could be heard-- getting to the part he'd nearly ruined. Need started to throb inside her, demanding satisfaction, wherever, however. "Touch me, go on."

As Amber lifted off him for a moment, Foreman was able to push back and get his body more or less entirely on the bed, without worrying that any over-ambitious move would send them tumbling to the floor with a thud that would be sure to set the Volakis' tongues wagging. The mattress squeaked quietly, but Foreman didn't notice. Amber's skin was warm, and he grinned up at her as she ordered him to take her shirt off. She hated it when he teased at this point in the proceedings. There were times--when he took her nipples between his teeth and circling them with his tongue, or occasionally, when he'd eased her in to the idea, going down on her, drawing his tongue along her labia--those were the moments to draw out the movement to as slow and excrutiating as he could make it. But once Amber had decided that she'd rather be naked, no delays were tolerated. Foreman slid his hands out of her shirt and started working on the buttons.

He looked up and met Amber's eyes as he opened her blouse, hands massaging firmly along her shoulders and down her arms as he pushed it off. He wished he could be as fully involved in the moment as she seemed to be. As gorgeous as she looked sitting over him in her rucked-up skirt and bra, Foreman couldn't forget exactly where they were. By now, he'd gone past the point of objecting, so he concentrated on rubbing Amber's nipples through the lace of her bra. "What do you want?" he asked, low and husky. His grin should show her that there were no guarantees that he'd deliver, but listening to Amber order him around was hot whether he gave in or not. He loved the nonchalant way she expected nothing but obedience from him. Foreman loved giving Amber everything she needed, but it also made things that much spicier when he taunted her by saying no.

Foreman swallowed, eyes darting to his hands against the white lace of Amber's bra. He was touching her lightly, palming her stomach and then moving back up to her breasts, finding her nipples again and again, using the friction of the scratchy lace to lend some roughness to his touch. Seeing her enjoy herself, reacting mindlessly to his touch, might finally tip him past an awareness of where they were.

Amber closed her eyes and gave in to the steadily strengthening pulse with her. She'd reached the point she wanted, of simply reacting. No thoughts, just wonderfully positive feelings. Eric's light touches were this close to making her ache, but for now she could deal with their fleeting nature. Rolling her hips gently helped take the edge off her need, and yet seemed to make it greater at the same time. Her clit wasn't getting direct pressure, but she felt the effect of her thighs rubbing together. It wouldn’t be enough in the long run, but it’d do for now.

Her skin cooled as her shirt slowly came off. Made it all the more tempting to lie down with Eric and roll around with him, absorbing his heat. But-- she gasped as his hands covered more of her, and then returned to her nipple, but his touch was no harder than before. "Stop teasing me," she moaned, louder than she meant, then shut up at how her voice echoed. Eyes wide with alarm, Amber bit her lips. Maybe a no-voice policy would be good.

She could show him in other ways what she wanted. Amber covered his hands with her own; one she squeezed, indicating just how he should be pinching her breasts. The other she trailed down into her panties, her breath growing faster. Eric was still reluctant, a fact Amber could tell by how long it took him to follow through her commands—when he was as into the moment as she, there was no lag on his part. She still had to seduce him, show him how much she wanted this, and him.

Amber sat up to give him a better angle of access-- and as she did so, the mattress gave a significant squeak. Nothing they'd hear downstairs, though, and therefore not an impediment. Amber returned to the business of bringing Eric's finger between her labia, sharing her beginning wetness.

Foreman froze when Amber moaned out loud. She looked as panicked as he felt for a moment, and that only made his heart slam harder against his ribs. She was the one who knew how likely it was that they'd be heard. For what seemed like forever, Foreman couldn't even breathe. Every sound was magnified--the springs under his head, Amber's light, quick breaths, his pulse hammering in his ears. The heating switched on, and Foreman almost jumped out of his skin. A second later, he realized it might be a good thing; the white noise might cover some of their more indiscreet sounds. When Amber pushed his hands where she wanted them, Foreman let her. The adrenaline made every ordinary motion feel more significant, more forbidden, and he let his air out in a rush when his hand cupped her vulva.

God, he loved looking at her. Seeing the expression on her face shift. Showing him how affected she was. Foreman dipped his finger between her labia, slipping past her clit to tease around her opening. Amber rocked against his hand, only moving her hips, and Foreman could feel the early signs of her arousal. His fingertip sunk inside her, only just, and then he circled around again, spreading her moisture. Amber was so hot, so familiar and responsive to his touch. Concentrating on that, and trying to squeeze her breast at the same time, took so much of Foreman's attention that he didn't have much left over to strain his ears for her family.

He had a sneaking suspicion that she could seduce him anywhere. The promise in the hitch and shudder of her breath, knowing that he was making her feel all that, struck him freshly every time. And he was hardly immune to the sight of her; Amber's hair drifted over her shoulders, her lipstick was slightly smeared, showing off the pinkness of her lips, and the fact that she was still wearing her bra--that Foreman couldn't see everything--turned him on all the more. She'd managed to get his tie off and open his shirt, but other than that, he was constricted inside his clothes. His distraction faded as he watched her, overwhelmed by how sexy she was, how even silently, she communicated just how turned on he was making her. Foreman felt the stirring of desire in his cock, more than just the warm affection and closeness of their kisses. He licked his lips and moved his hand from Amber's breast around her back and unhooked the clasp of her bra. Instead of trying to take it off, he spread his hand along her back. "Hey," he whispered. "Come here." He pulled her down on top of him. He wanted to feel her body against his; he wanted to kiss her while he fingered her clit, and taste the gasps from her lips.

Already needy, having Eric touch her harder seemed only to make things worse. He knew just how to press, his fingers blazing a trail over her skin; it was as if parts of her only came to life with his caresses. Amber wanted more but it wasn't as if she were getting it. Her hip's thrusts became an insistent rocking, seeking what Eric wasn't delivering; she bit her lower lip, attempting to hold back her whine. She couldn't say his name. Couldn't moan. Couldn't. Amber was being pulled tighter and tighter, a ball of longing. She wasn't sure she could hold it all in. She had to.

Amber felt the release of her bra, so she shrugged it off, together with her shirt. The tug of straps where they shouldn't be and half-falling sleeves always bothered her, even more annoying than having them on.

She'd barely had the time to throw them aside when Eric used her unbalance to bring her down. Amber let out a soft grunt of protest-- this was delaying her gratification!-- but found that her frustration dissipated up close to Eric like this. "Hi," Amber whispered back, mesmerized. She'd mostly closed her eyes while sitting on him, but now... that glow in his eyes. Her heart stuttered. They'd been together for weeks and he still looked at her like that. It frightened and thrilled her. How much longer would that last?

His lips glistened slightly, perhaps with fresh saliva. Irresistibly drawn, Amber bent her head, opening her mouth to his. Kissed him desperately, sucking on his tongue, unable to get enough. She'd so ache from beard burn tomorrow, but for now, it just made the kiss rougher, sweeter. "Unh," she couldn't help, though she tried to keep it quiet. A bit longer and that slight suggestion of hardness would be very satisfying indeed.

Her knees fell down on either side of him, all the better to grind into him. She should've gotten more of his clothes off before. Now that her hands truly itched to run over his biceps, to hold on firm to his hips-- all she had to grasp was his suit. Unacceptable. Still kissing, her hands pulled his shirt from his trousers and moved up. There. Like that. Yes.

Amber's sudden closeness made Foreman' heart pound for an entirely new reason. Her eyes were dark, her lips parted, and Foreman was lifting his head into her kiss at the same moment that her mouth met his. Half-conscious of the need for silence, he kept his deep groan as quiet as possible when she dived into a kiss he could barely keep up with. Pleasure dizzied him as Amber swirled her tongue around his. His cock stiffened, from the friction of Amber's hips and the echoing knowledge of exactly what Amber's mouth felt like when she was this determined, this desperate. His arm was trapped between their bodies, his hand still caught inside Amber's skirt and panties. She rocked her hips against his hand, but he couldn't move enough to keep up the circling, exploratory touching he'd been managing before. Inside his clothes, he was starting to sweat, and his shirt was probably already a lost battle; it had to be wrinkled beyond all any hope but a steam press. Foreman didn't care. Amber was sneaking her hands up under his shirt, and the smoothness of her palms over his stomach, up to his chest, mattered more than the damn shirt. He just wanted out of his suit, damn it.

He'd have to stop touching her in order to touch her the way he wanted. A full press, skin on skin, weight and heat adding to his desire. Foreman worked his left hand out from Amber's skirt and let it join his right on her back. Holding her close, he rolled over, slowly and carefully. There was one warning creak from the bed, but once Amber was lying in the sheets he'd warmed with his body, Foreman sat up on his knees and got his clothes off as fast as possible. The suit jacket he tossed over the desk; he might want to wear it again without visiting a dry-cleaners. The shirt, he nearly tore off, and dropped it on the floor beside the bed with Amber's blouse. He made quick work of his belt buckle, tugging it open and unzipping his pants, shoving them down his legs. As much as he hated to leave Amber even for a moment, he had to stand up to get rid of them completely.

Grinning, Foreman leaned back over Amber slowly. He was half-hard, his cock extending in a thick curve away from his balls, but not yet erect. With one hand on the bed beside Amber's shoulder, Foreman bent down to kiss her, deep and strong. Still kissing her, his blood coursing with excitement, he lowered himself to the bed, until he was pressed half on top of her, her breasts finally pushed against his bare chest, their legs interlocking. Foreman rocked against her gently, kissing her face and throat, before moving back to her lips. "I had a feeling you were thinking about having your way with me," he said quietly, rubbing against her suggestively. "Wanna do something about that?"

Eric could be so obvious. Amber giggled around his tongue. All she had to do was say a few lines about wanting and needing, flash some skin, and kiss like her life depended on it. With just that he was already arching into her as desperately as she, rubbing and sucking like he needed her closer still. He was so easy. Not that she was complaining!

Her hands' path was impeded by his damn shirt, so while she'd have loudly protested being rolled away and abandoned, Amber also understood the necessity. Though her flesh cried out against even this temporary abandonment, her eyes certainly appreciated the distance. Amber propped herself up on her elbows, gazing intensely. It was amazing, how lithe Eric was in so basic a motion as throwing a jacket to the side. They couldn't speak, but Amber mouthed 'rawr' and smiled as he violently did away with his shirt. Yeah, baby. His pecs and abdomen flexed with the movement, clear and beautiful and strong. Her mouth flooded with the memory of Eric's taste; she leaned forward, greedy to kiss that softly glowing skin.

The worst tease, naturally, was the belt buckle. Amber reached out, ready to get the job over with and take his dick through his zipper. She didn't care that not taking their clothes off completely might cause aggravations later: she wanted to touch and lick him now. Just the thought of it, of Eric in her, made her vagina swell with a wet warmth.

Her hand stopped. If they were going to fuck-- and, yes, they would-- they'd need a condom. Christ. By now she knew them well enough to be prepared whenever they met up out of (and at) work, but it hadn't occurred her that they'd go this far in her parent's house. It was almost enough to make her stop. But not enough. Her purse, she always had condoms in there.

She was sorry to miss the best part of Eric's striptease, but it was for the best cause. Amber slipped from off the bed and walked in quiet, wide strides to the mess of bags. It was on top of the first batch she'd brought up and, indeed, there were a couple of condoms stashed in a side pocket. While she was at it, Amber shed her skirt and pulled down her panties.

It took no more than a few seconds. She was significantly colder by the time she got back in bed, but she forgot that as soon as Eric covered her. Amber's hips met Eric's instinctively, grinding hard and slow. His cock rubbed against her pubic hairs, which both pleased and frustrated her; it was almost what she wanted.

"Mmnhhh," she murmured, returning his kiss. Her hands flitted, brushing over his shoulder, his face, his ass. So many options. She didn't know where to start. "Yeah." The mattress gave another squeak with a stronger thrust. She didn't think about it. Her bed had never been noisy before. It wouldn’t be a problem. Amber brought her right hand between them and waved the condom between her fingers. "I've got big plans."

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